【二次エロ】船原邸へのご訪問(001)【アダルトAVアニメ・ゲーム】

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変顔でエントランスルームに晒しもの

■ 船原邸へのご訪問：変顔でエントランスルームに晒しもの

蝉の声が、夏の盛りを告げるようにけたたましく鳴り響く。私は、冷や汗を滲ませながら、重厚な門扉の前に立っていた。今日、私は船原邸を訪れる。それは、単なる訪問ではない。むしろ、人生を左右するほどの、極めて重要な、そして、恐ろしい儀式なのだ。

「船原邸へのご訪問」という言葉を聞いたのは、数週間前のこと。 my sister, Yumi, who had always been secretive about her love life, suddenly announced that she was going to marry into the prestigious Funahara family. The news was shocking, not just because of the suddenness, but because the Funahara family was known for their eccentric traditions and their almost fanatical dedication to their peculiar customs.

Yumi, however, seemed unfazed. “It’s a great opportunity, Hana,” she’d said, her eyes shining with a mixture of excitement and something I couldn’t quite decipher. “They’re looking for someone with a… unique sensibility. And I think I fit the bill perfectly.”

That was Yumi. Always embracing the unconventional. But this time, I felt a prickle of unease. The wedding was to be held at the Funahara estate, and before the main ceremony, there was a pre-wedding ritual, a tradition unique to the Funahara family. And I, Yumi’s younger sister, was somehow designated to participate.

The invitation, a stiff parchment embossed with the Funahara family crest, had been delivered by a somber-faced butler. It stated, in elegant calligraphy, my specific role: "To present yourself with your most expressive countenance in the Grand Entrance Hall, that your familial spirit may be duly appraised." In simpler terms, I was to make a "funny face" for the entire Funahara clan to scrutinize.

The idea was utterly absurd. I, Hana, a shy librarian who blushed at the slightest attention, being asked to contort my face into a grotesque caricature? It felt like a nightmare. My initial reaction was to refuse, to implore Yumi to reconsider. But Yumi, in her characteristic way, had dismissed my concerns.

“Don’t worry, Hana,” she’d said, a playful glint in her eyes. “It’s just a bit of fun. Think of it as a theatrical performance. You’ll be brilliant.”

Brilliant? More like mortified.

Now, standing before the imposing gates of the Funahara estate, the absurdity of the situation hit me anew. The gates themselves were wrought iron monstrosities, depicting snarling griffins and entwined serpents. Beyond them, a long, winding driveway disappeared into a dense grove of ancient trees. The air was thick with the scent of exotic flowers and a subtle, almost unnerving perfume.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the gate. It groaned in protest, its ancient hinges weeping oil. The driveway was meticulously manicured, a stark contrast to the wildness of the surrounding woods. Statues of stoic, unsmiling figures lined the path, their marble eyes seeming to follow my every step.

As I approached the mansion, a colossal structure that seemed to dwarf even the surrounding trees, my heart hammered against my ribs. It was built in an ostentatious, Gothic Revival style, with towering spires and numerous gargoyles perched on its rooftops, leering down with their stony, eternal grins.

A uniformed doorman, his face impassive, opened the massive oak doors for me. The entrance hall was vast and dimly lit, the sunlight struggling to penetrate the stained-glass windows that depicted scenes of what looked like ancient family rituals. The air inside was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of old wood and something faintly floral, almost cloying.

And then I saw them.

The entire Funahara family.

They were gathered in the center of the hall, a formidable assembly of stern faces and elaborate attire. Men in impeccably tailored suits, their gazes sharp and assessing. Women adorned in silk and lace, their expressions ranging from polite curiosity to outright suspicion. They stood in a hushed semicircle, their eyes fixed on the empty space in front of them, waiting. Waiting for me.

A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. This was it. The moment of truth. Or, more accurately, the moment of utter humiliation.

My knees felt weak, but I forced myself to walk forward, my footsteps echoing unnervingly in the cavernous space. As I reached the designated spot, the murmuring in the hall subsided completely. The silence was deafening.

Then, an elderly woman, presumably the matriarch, stepped forward. Her face was a roadmap of wrinkles, her eyes piercing and intelligent. She wore a black velvet gown and a formidable diamond necklace.

“Welcome to Funahara Manor,” she announced, her voice surprisingly strong and clear. “We are delighted to have you, Hana-san. You are here to participate in our esteemed tradition, the ‘Appraisal of the Spirited Visage’.”

She gestured towards me. “As you know, this is a vital part of our family’s lineage. We believe that a family’s strength lies not only in its lineage and intellect, but in its ability to express its true spirit, its whims, its passions, its very essence, through the uninhibited art of facial contortion.”

My breath hitched. This was worse than I imagined. It wasn’t just about making a funny face; it was about demonstrating my “true spirit” through it.

The matriarch continued, her gaze unwavering. “We will observe your transformation, your dedication to the expression, and the sheer unadulterated joy or perhaps, profound sorrow, that you can evoke. This is a testament to your willingness to embrace the unconventional, to shed the veneer of societal expectation, and to reveal the raw, vibrant core of your being.”

I felt a wave of dizziness. I was a librarian. My “uninhibited art” usually involved a quiet sigh over a misplaced book.

“Now, Hana-san,” the matriarch said, her voice softening slightly, though the intensity in her eyes remained. “Take your time. Let the spirit move you. And when you are ready, present your most spirited visage.”

The silence descended again, thicker this time. Every eye in the hall was on me. I could feel the weight of their collective gaze, the unspoken judgment. My mind raced. What was a “spirited visage”? What did they expect? A grotesque grimace? A manic grin? A look of utter despair?

Panic began to set in. My face felt stiff, frozen. I tried to force a smile, but it came out as a weak, pathetic grimace. A few stifled coughs rippled through the assembled Funaharas. My blush deepened, spreading from my neck to my hairline.

This was a disaster. I was failing before I even began.

Suddenly, a memory flashed through my mind. It was of Yumi, a few days ago, practicing something in front of her mirror. She had been making the most outlandish faces, her normally elegant features twisted into a comical mess. She had been laughing hysterically.

A spark ignited within me. Yumi wouldn't want me to fail. She believed in my "unique sensibility." Perhaps this was my chance to show them that I, too, could be unconventional.

I took another deep breath, this time filling my lungs with determination. I closed my eyes for a fleeting moment, picturing Yumi’s infectious laughter. When I opened them, I looked not at the stern faces of the Funahara clan, but at the invisible audience in my mind.

And then, I let go.

I didn’t try to be pretty. I didn’t try to be elegant. I simply embraced the ridiculousness of the situation. I scrunched up my nose until it touched my upper lip. I widened my eyes until they bulged. I jutted out my chin and puffed out my cheeks, making them puff out like a chipmunk. My tongue lolled out slightly to one side. It was, in short, an utterly hideous and completely uninhibited face.

For a moment, the hall remained silent, a stunned, breathless silence. I could feel my cheeks burning, convinced I had made the gravest mistake of my life. I braced myself for their condemnation, for their dismissal of me as a hopeless case.

Then, a sound. A soft chuckle. It came from the matriarch. It grew into a hearty laugh, a booming, infectious sound that echoed through the hall. And as she laughed, the stern faces around her began to crack. A few smiles appeared, then a few more. Soon, the entire Funahara clan was erupting in laughter.

It wasn’t mocking laughter. It was genuine, unrestrained mirth. They were not judging me; they were enjoying my performance.

The matriarch, wiping a tear from her eye, stepped forward again. “Magnificent!” she exclaimed, her voice still laced with amusement. “Truly magnificent! The sheer, unadulterated spirit! You have shown us a visage of such… unrestrained vitality! It is indeed a unique sensibility!”

A wave of relief washed over me, so potent it made my legs tremble. I had done it. I had made a funny face, and they had liked it.

Yumi, who had appeared from a side corridor, her wedding dress a vision of ethereal beauty, rushed towards me. She threw her arms around my neck, her laughter mingling with mine.

“I told you, Hana,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You were brilliant.”

As I stood there, enveloped in Yumi’s embrace, amidst the joyous laughter of the Funahara family, I realized that perhaps, just perhaps, my shy librarian self could indeed possess a spirited visage. And that sometimes, the most profound expressions of one’s true spirit come not from polite smiles, but from the most outrageous, uninhibited faces we can make. The journey to Funahara Manor had begun as an ordeal, but it was slowly transforming into something far more unexpected, and perhaps, even wonderful. The gates had opened not just to an estate, but to a new understanding of myself, and of the peculiar, wonderful traditions of the Funahara family.